As wretches feel who wait their doom; Nor must one ruder thought presume, Tho' but in whispers breath'd, to meet her ear. It is to hope, tho' hope were lost; Tho' heaven and earth thy passion crost; Tho' she were bright as sainted queens above, And thou the least and meanest swain That folds his flock upon the plain, Yet if thou dar'st not hope, thou dost not love. It is to quench thy joy in tears; To nurse strange doubts and groundless fears: If pangs of jealousy thou hast not prov'd, Tho' she were fonder, and more true Than any nymph old poets drew, O never dream again that thou hast lov'd! If, when the darling maid is gone, Wrapt in a pleasing trance of tender woe, Thou dost not love, for love is nourish'd so. any hopes thy bosom share But those which love has planted there, Or any cares but his thy breast enthrall, And reigns a tyrant, if he reigns at all. Now if thou art so lost a thing, And prove whose patience longest can endure: In dreams of fondest passion most; For if thou thus hast lov'd, oh! never hope a cure. SONG. WHEN first upon your tender cheek I saw the morn of beauty break With mild and cheering beam, I bow'd before your infant shrine, I saw you in that opening morn For beauty's boundless empire born, And first confess'd your sway; And ere your thoughts, devoid of art, 1 gave my heart away. I watch'd the dawn of every grace, While yet 'twas safe to gaze; Nor thought such innocence could harm But now despotic o'er the plains And kneeling crowds adore; Thus to the rising God of day And bless the spreading fire; Whose glowing chariot mounting soon Pours on their heads the burning noon; They sicken and expire. ELEANOR ANNE FRANKLIN, Born died 1825, The daughter of Mr. Porden, an architect, and wife of the enterprising Captain Franklin, wrote The Veils, or The Triumph of Constancy; Cœur de Lion, or The Third Crusade; and The Arctic Expedition. Her best work is Cœur de Lion, in sixteen books. It bears in many passages the stamp of genuine poetry; but the taste of the day being decidedly against the epic style, its readers have been far from numerous. From The Veils. (Book V.) Volcanoes seen by Night. As slowly now descend the shades of night, Where crimson vapours tinge the eternal snow, On lofty Stromboli the sky was bright, Like distant thunder, burst a hollow sound, Disturb'd the quivering air, and shook the shores around. From Cœur de Lion. (Book XIII.) Berengaria having assumed the Garb of a Minstrel, discovers Richard in the Castle of Trivallis. FREED from the castle* ere the dawn of day, The castle of Count Maynard. |